


Take me, instead

by Bisous_Villanelle



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Charles goes to rehab and lives with Francis happily ever sober, Henry survives and he marries Camilla, M/M, Mentioned past incest, This is STUPID BUT I DON'T CARE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:40:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bisous_Villanelle/pseuds/Bisous_Villanelle
Summary: Francis and Charles receive an invitation that hits a little too close to home. Francis wonders if what he's built is enough to keep Charles close to him, or if he'll have to scoot over to make space for the ghost of Camilla.
Relationships: Camilla Macaulay/Charles Macaulay, Camilla Macaulay/Henry Winter, Francis Abernathy/Charles Macaulay
Kudos: 3





	Take me, instead

''You alright?''

Charles snorted.The letter to his left, every now and then he'd pick it up and re-examine it, almost looking for traces that it was indeed a mean joke Henry and Camilla decided to play on him, instead of a legitimate wedding invitation, elegant lettering and delicate flowers. Francis couldn't help but feel the same way; standing there against the kitchen counter,he uncrossed his arms with a deep sigh. How differently his day would have started had he not answered the door! The bitter thought of how easily he just had given his domestic peace up and over to the newly engaged rang louder than any silent promise he had made to himself to not resent his former friends,whatever the consequences. Now, looking over at Charles, slumped on a chair with his head in his hands, he thought he should have known better. He should have never let him read the letter, or better yet, he should have never opened it himself in the first place. He should have sat in front of the fire place, watched the languid flames burn it away, and then he should have collected the ashes to prevent any further contamination.

Should have, could have. Postumous clarity never won you back a scrap of the frail equilibrium you've just lost. He suddenly thought of Charles,drunk at that very wooden table they bought together in spring, and a wave of nausea overcame him. It was like being in Hampden again, right after the murders; the screaming, the violence, the incest, the tears, the apologies. He closed his eyes, willing away the intrusive thought.

''Could you please say something?'' He asked, the urgency in his voice palpable. Charles didn't move. Did he even hear him? ''Charles.'' No reaction. How much time had passed? Anxiety started creeping slowly in his gut. Francis gripped the counter tightly and looked around; everything was just as they left it, before opening the envelope: his plate, untouched, right to the half eaten stack of pancakes and cold coffee Charles had miserably pushed away from him. He smiled despite the tightness in his chest. How ironically fitting, Francis thought, that their kitchen looked like a crime scene.

Finally, Charles exhaled heavily and sat up straight. It stung, really, to have the past come back to bite you in the ass this hard while you're sober. He ran a hand over his mouth, wishing Francis would leave already and let him get drunk in peace. Sure, it'd break his heart and ruin his own sobriety streak, but if Charles could deal with it, so would have Francis eventually. Besides, Francis gets over everything. And it's not an everyday occasion that you get invited at your twin's wedding, with whom you had sex with. Not to mention you tried to shoot the broom dead on the spot that one time, after he made you kill two men. Surely Francis would understand; he's not that cruel. Charles turnt to look at him for the first time, and immediately burnt with shame. 

There he was, standing uselessly by the kitchen counter, holding on to it for dear life. It struck Charles, sharp as a slap, that Francis would not have gotten over it; all those months in and out of rehab; all the money invested, in getting him in and out of rehab; all that effort, in getting him out and then back in rehab. He thought he could be selfish for once, the one time he actually needed a drink: but looking at Francis now, pale and wide eyed and obviously anxious, he realized how cruel it was of him to even consider that. And so Charles sighed once more, pinching the bridge of his nose like he did when he was irritated; guilt never comes unaccompained, and despite his best attempts he still wasn't good enough of a person to give up drinking and not harbor any hard feelings towards the reason standing between him and the sweet release.

And there was the reason, all panicky and long limbed, thinking God knows what in his stupid little head. Charles looked at him long and hard, and decided that maybe he'll drink at Camilla's funeral, but not at her wedding. He fished out a cigarette from the pack on the table, and lit it inhaling deeply, as he moved towards Francis and put the cigarette in his mouth. He accepted it gracefully, just like he always did, as if he breathed better with the smoke in his lungs than without. Charles was close enough to notice the little tremor in Francis' elegant hand as he brought it to his mouth; he avoided his gaze like a wounded animal. Charles rested his chin on top of his ginger hair and contemplated how fucking touchy Francis was, and how pliable he was, and how easily he could have snapped in his arms had Charles held him tighter. Maybe they could have gone back to pancakes and saturday mornings, or maybe this was the divine punishment for what they did, knocking at Francis' door in Boston 5 years later.

''We don't have to go.'' Francis whined, shaking his head to emphasize the point. He loved Camilla, and he probably loved Henry too. He was happy they were happy, and could have almost teared up thinking about them exchanging vows in Greek and kissing ardently like a Klimt. But he loved Charles more, and somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a selfish voice whispering that maybe he was only happy for Henry and Camilla because he got to keep her brother. He wasn't gracious enough to sacrifice his joy for theirs, as pathetic as it sounded; but charity never was his strongest virtue, and he had fought for Charles with teeth and nails.  
And when Charles hummed in agreement and Francis held his face between his hands, looking into his grey eyes he saw tenderness too; and thought that Charles too, had somewhat fought for him. Francis decided then and there that he would have forgotten all about the Camillas of this world as many times as he needed, as long as Charles would have kept on kissing him so sweetly.


End file.
